A Johnlock before Christmas
by Pockethobbit
Summary: This is a Johnlock-story-collection made of 24 chapters. Some will be oneshots and some will have more chapters. Enjoy!
1. December 1

_December 1_

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><p><span>Snow flurry<span>

"Sherlock! Sherlock, wake up!" John rattled at the detectives shoulders. The dark curled boy who lay sprawled out in his bed groaned and shifted slightly. John shook him again. "Sherlock, wake up", he hissed, not much louder than whispering so as not to wake Greg. Sherlock turned his head upwards to the noise and frowned. "Sherlock!" Sighing, the tall boy opened his eyes and his indefinable orbs glared up at John. "Finally, sleepyhead", John chuckled, pulling at his best friends arms to get him upright.

"Why the hell are you waking me in the middle of the night?", he snarled while trying to swat the blond boys hands away.  
>"Don't ask, just follow and be quiet. Quick, we have to hurry!", John whispered. Whit a steady pull he got Sherlock up to his feet. His dark curls bounced and he opened his mouth to protest, but John hushed him. Grabbing his hand and holding it firmly, so that he couldn't lop off, he dragged him through the large holiday house they accompanied with a few friends, tiptoeing because Greg was sleeping in the same room.<p>

Grudgingly Sherlock let himself be pulled out of their bedroom, glancing at the clock on his nightstand before John closed the door silently behind them. It was four am, what the hell was wrong with his friend? He scowled at John who just chuckled and winked at him. Then he hurried to the sofa before returning with his jacket and Sherlock's long coat.

"Put that on!", he ordered, while dressing himself.  
>"Why?", the detective pouted, but John just raised his eyebrows.<br>"If you want to get a cold it's not my problem. Now hurry, we're losing time."  
>Frustrated about the lack of information Sherlock grumbled, but shrugged his coat on anyway. He snatched his blue scarf from the nearby standing chair just in time, because John was dragging him again forward, holding tightly onto his arm. He nearly stumbled as the seemingly gone insane boy began to jog in front of him and quickly caught up.<p>

John led them out onto the street, ice like air hitting them as he opened the door. It was bloody freezing outside, below zero, Sherlock supposed. He shivered, as John pulled him a few meters on, more gently now, until they stood in the middle of a large crossroad. There he stopped, releasing the detective from his grip and looking up at the sky.

Sherlock looked at him, confused. Nothing about John's behavior made any sense. He wasn't able to deduce what he was up to. With a frustrated sigh he asked: "What are we doing here?"  
>John smiled, not looking away from the dark sky which was full of grey clouds.<br>"We're waiting", he whispered, glancing quickly at a frowning Sherlock.  
>"For whom? Clearly nobody would-"<br>"For the snow", John interjected, still looking dreamingly up at the sky. It seemed as if he were in an entirely other world.

Sherlock shook his head disapprovingly. Did John drink too much last night? But he didn't seem to be tipsy. Slightly uncomfortable he reached for the blond boy's arm.  
>"John", he asked concerned, "is something wrong?" John never behaved that odd when everything was fine. Eventually, the shorter boy let his gaze wander back to Sherlock, smiling at him, his eyes sparkling.<br>"Everything is fine. I just wanted to see the first snow of the year. It'll fall any moment."

Now fully worried Sherlock shook his head. "John, how are you supposed to know, when exactly the snow begins to-"  
>Sherlock's eyes went wide, as a large and cold flake landed on his nose. Stunned he looked up at the sky to see a beautiful whirlwind of white slowly tumbling down, sparkling in the light of the streetlamps. With a dropped jaw he glanced back and forth between the snow and John, who was beaming at him. His blue eyes sparkled with joy and twinkled just as much as the flakes that surrounded him and got stuck in his short, blond hair, as he chuckled lightly at Sherlock's stunned face.<p>

"But- how- That's impossible!", the detective whispered, not trusting his voice. John's blues eyes softened even more, as he stepped closer to Sherlock, hesitantly reaching out for his hand, and as the taller boy didn't pull away, intervening their fingers.  
>"I smelled the snow. I knew it was coming. I always know and I'm never wrong." He looked up into Sherlock eyes and the dark curled boy could do absolutely nothing than to stare back.<p>

He was caught in the beautiful sight before him. An entirely happy John Watson, beaming at him, snow all over his hair and glittering in his eyelashes, as he blinked slowly, his grin fading into an counted smile, when he felt how Sherlock relaxed. They stood there, staring at one another for what felt like hours, surrounded by dancing snow. When a large flake landed on John's nose, Sherlock gently reached out and wiped it away with his thumb. He let his fingers wander down to John's cheek, slowly, carefully, and then cupped his face upwards. Blue eyes sparkled brighter, as they drew closer, and when the ever-changing ones finally fluttered shut and soft lips met each other, all the snow around them was forgotten.

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><p><em><span>AN:<span> That was part one of my advent-story-series! Some of them will be one-shots like this, some of them will have more chapters. Just look at the end of every story, there I'll tell you more about it! _  
><em>The Idea for this story comes from a short scene in Gilmore Girls. If someone recognizes it, you're awesome! ;) <em>  
><em>- I own nothing - <em>  
><em>Merry Christmas <em>  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	2. December 2

_December 2_

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><p><span>Thieves beware<span>

„Sorry", John mumbled sheepishly as he bumped into someone. He gave the fat woman who was wrapped up in an ugly purple tweet jacket an apologetic smile.  
>"Oh, no harm done", she chirped, patting his shoulder slightly. He nodded, quickly turning around before she could catch him grinning. Most people just were so oblivious. He stuffed her purse – ugh, even that was purple – into his jacket. Then he let his gaze wander through the crowd on the streets of London. He watched with eagle like eyes, looking for purses and watches.<p>

His attention was caught by a tall man with dark curls who stared absentmindedly up to a street sign. Before the purple lady had distracted him, he had caught a glimpse of some loose pounds in the large pockets of his belstaff coat. Silly, really, that he didn't even use a purse. John tilted his head. How should he approach the man? He didn't really look like the person he could just bump into. The blond man decided for the offensive. With long strides he walked over to him and positioned himself at the side with the money. Gently, he reached for the man's arm, simultaneously sneaking his fingers into the pocket of the coat, while asking: "Can I help you? Are you lost?"

The man whipped his head around, staring incredulously at John and then at the hand on his arm. Piercing eyes seemed to scan the pickpocket as he stuffed the money and something that felt like a card into his trouser pockets.  
>"No, I'm not", the tall man scoffed, as if the question had been insulting, before turning around and pacing away quickly, without a glance behind. John merely shrugged. He had got what he had wanted.<p>

It took some time for Sherlock to notice that he had no money. He sat in a cab back to Baker Street after presenting Lestrade the murderer of the biologist. When the car stopped in front of the black door with the golden letters _221B_ on it, he reached into his coat to pull out some pounds. Frowning he rummaged through all his pockets. There were none. Not a single pence he could find.

"What? Are you not able to pay?", the cabby spat, scowling at him.  
>"No, no, of course I am. Just wait a second", Sherlock mumbled before rushing out of the car. Quickly he ran up to his flat, grabbing the cash which lay on the kitchen table, before hurrying down again to the impatient cabby. He gave him some notes, not bothering that it was way too much and turned around without another word.<p>

As he entered the flat for the second time, he sank down on the sofa, hands steepled under his chin in his usual thinking position. Immediately he went into his mind palace, scanning through his day. The last time he had noticed his money was when he had paid a homeless to get some information about the victims nightlife. Then he hadn't needed it anymore until he sat in the cab. And in-between… there had been the alley behind the brothel which the victim used to visit frequently, then he had noticed the false street sign. Afterwards the blond man had approached him, he had caught sight of the murderer and then- stop. The man. The blond man!

Quickly he replayed the scene in his head, going through every detail. He had been startled by the touch on his arm and the politely concerned smile on the man's face. Normally everyone tried to avoid him, what he wasn't about to change. No he even supported it by sending dark glances whenever someone made effort to come near him. Sherlock zoomed into the moment, as the man touched his arm, reassuring he supposed. What did the other hand? The other hand… Sherlock's eyes shot open. That was impossible! He saw everything, he _observed_ everything, and clearly nobody could _steal_ from him. But when he eliminated every other possibility, the only thing remaining had to be the truth.

Startled he looked up at the ceiling. This man was clever. Not as mundane as the others when he managed to steal from Sherlock Holmes. A small smile tugged at his lips. _Well_, he thought, _two could play that game_.

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><p><em><span>AN:<span> This is a little fanfiction with more then one chapter. It's a pickpocket!john AU if you haven't got that already. The idea for this came from my best friend Jana. Thanks, I love you! :*_  
><em>- Sadly, I own nothing. - <em>  
><em>Please review and tell me what you think about this story-collection so far! <em>  
><em>Merry Christmas<em>  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	3. December 3

December 3

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><p><span>Thieves beware (part 2)<span>

John Watson glimpsed over his shoulder to make sure nobody was following him before he slipped through a small wooden door. He entered a dusty room which contained only an old mattress, a wooden box which looked as if it would fall into pieces soon and a hand-me-down kitbag. He shrugged off his jacket and sat down on the mattress. Then he started to pull out his yield of the day and outlaid it in front of him on the floor. A few identity cards and some credit cards were part of his collection.

When he pulled out the loose pounds and the card from the back of his trousers, he frowned. He hadn't looked what type of card it was yet, but had assumed I was a credit card or something like that. But in fact it was a badge from Scotland Yard. As he opened it he chuckled. It was the badge of Detective Inspector Lestrade. John grinned. He had managed to pickpocket a DI. That wasn't something he achieved every day.

Other thieves would maybe chick out now, worrying they'd get caught, but the blond man had no sorrows the like. It wasn't very likely that the policeman would remember him anyway and even if, how on earth did he want to find him? That would need a genius or a psychic. With a smug smile he stored the stolen goods away beneath a lath in the floor. Then he pulled a blanket out of his kitbag and used the latter as a pillow as he laid down onto the mattress to get some sleep.

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><p>Observing everything around him, Sherlock approached the little hut at the end of the alley. His homeless network had looked up the dirty blond pickpocket's the hiding place for him and now he was going to find out who could manage to steal from Sherlock Holmes, the man who noticed everything. He checked quickly if someone was following him and when he was sure he was alone, he slipped into the small wooden room.<p>

It was nearly empty, there was only an old mattress and a dusty kitbag lying around. Nobody was here as Sherlock had assumed. The thief probably was outside doing his business, but the detective calculated that he would return soon. He slid down on the floor right beneath a shattered window, so that he was hidden from the sight of nearing people. There he sat, listening for any noises that would trait the home coming man.

After precisely one hour 12 minutes and 28 seconds he heard footsteps. Someone approached the hut, hesitated a moment in front of the building, probably to check he wasn't followed, and then opened door. A short figure entered the room, his blond hair freckled with snowflakes and he his cheeks and nose were red from the icy wind outside. He didn't notice Sherlock who was still sitting on the floor without moving. The detective waited until the pickpocket stood in the middle of the room before he raised smoothly and made a few steps towards him.

He positioned himself right between the man and the door, as the blond bolted around and raised his arms to fight him down. Though shortly before he hit him, he stopped. "You", he gasped astonished. Sherlock glared at him. "Yes, me. Obviously. What's your name?", he demanded coolly. The thief shortly glanced down at his jacket before answering: "Mike."

The sleuth just quirked his brow a smug smile tugging at his lips. "No."  
>His counterpart frowned. "No?"<p>

"No, you're not Mike. Even though the credit card in the right pocket of your jacket says so. But you were raised in an orphanage and were abused there. They gave you a big stab into the left shoulder one day. That's when you fled and ended on the street. You don't trust anyone, so you steal instead of going begging, which is also the reason I don't know your name. So, who are you?"

The man's jaw slackened and he stared at Sherlock with wide eyes. "I... What... How?", he breathed, his voice seemingly gone. He shook his head, a confused frown beginning to form on his face. He tilted his head then, staring at the detective and clearly thinking hard about something, before something in his gaze changed. Curiously Sherlock tilted his head. The short pickpocket had just made a decision, he could see it in his eyes. The question left was what it was.

"My name's John. I'm sorry to have stolen from you, Inspector. Well, more sorry for myself than for you, but I have to go now. If you just would let me through that door please?", he asked politely, wearing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Before Sherlock could react in any way, the thief grabbed his kitbag and pushed him out of the way.

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><p><em><span>AN:<span> And the story goes on... :D It'll continue, don't worry!_  
><em>- Sadly, I own nothing. If I did, Johnlock would've been canon for a long time.- <em>  
><em>Please review and tell me how you think it goes on! <em>  
><em>Merry Christmas<em>  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	4. December 4

December 4

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><p><span>Thieves beware (part 3)<span>

John was just reaching for the door, when Sherlock managed to pull himself together. With one long stride he got hold of the kitbag and pulled hard. The pickpocket tumbled backwards and lost his balance. Analyzing the situation quickly, the sleuth took advantage of John's momentarily disorientation to pin him against the wall.  
>"You're not going anywhere", he grumbled, annoyed by the fleeing attempt. The captured man just sighed.<p>

"Thought it might work", he mumbled before stopping to restrain Sherlock's grip. Latter backed a bit away to see his face properly before he noticed something John had said.  
>"Why did you call me Inspector?"<br>The confusion was clearly written in the others face as his brows pulled together.  
>"Aren't you one?", he asked. His question was answered with an eye roll.<br>"Would I ask if I were? Stop asking obvious things and answer my question." John shrugged. "Found your badge between the pounds", he stated, as if that was an everyday occurrence. Well, for him it was, Sherlock supposed. To his own surprise he chuckled. He hadn't heard himself chuckle since many years and he immediately stopped, frowning at himself. The blond man who he was still holding against the wall just watched him curiously.  
>"Oh, are you in business too? Sorry man, if I got in your territory. Lost track a bit yesterday." He smiled apologetically.<br>"What? No, no, I'm not a thief", the detective shook his head, stopping himself from chuckling again. What was it today with him?

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><p>John wasn't surprised often. But as he stood pinned against the wall of the hut in which he momentarily lived, pinned of course by the tall man with the dark curls who he had thought to be an Inspector, he was surprised. Pretty surprised, really, but not of the man in front of him, no. John Watson was astonished by himself. Because when he looked into his eyes whose colour he couldn't identify (it looked like a beautiful mix of green, blue, grey and gold), he found himself trusting this man.<br>The pickpocket had only one rule in his life: Trust nobody. And now some strange guy who seemed to know everything about him walked into his hut, pinning him against the wall, and John Watson _trusted_ him.

He watched him curiously. If that wasn't his badge, he had to be a thief too. It wasn't very likely, because John knew all the good pickpockets of London, but the possibility was still there.

"Oh, are you in business too? Sorry man, if I got in your territory. Lost track a bit yesterday." He smiled apologetically.

"What? No, no, I'm not a thief!" The man in front of him seemed to suppress a smile. John just raised an eyebrow.

"So, who are you then?"

"I'm a consulting detective. I help the police. To be precise I mostly help DI Lestrade", he answered shrugging. Then he tilted his head, no emotion passing his face as he seemed to scan John. The pickpocket felt a little uneasiness crawling up his back under the intense stare. Was he going to get arrested? That would be shit, really. He had managed to steal his whole life since he was eleven without getting arrested. He didn't want to get started with that now. The detective in front of him took a deep breath, before saying the last thing John expected.

"I need an assistant. Anderson doesn't work with me. I think you're the right man for that task. Meet me tomorrow at 4 pm. I have a room for you, if you're going to accept. You can't stay in this", he waved a hand to the mattress, "dust."

Then he released John from his grip and began to walk to the door.

"That's it?", John asked, gaping at the back of the detective. He turned around, the question clearly written on his face."

"We know each other for five minutes and you get me a job as your assistant on crime scenes, i hope you can see the irony, because you don't work with an Anderson, whatever that is, and ask me to move in with you at a place you haven't told me where? I don't even know your name!" He shook his head incredulously.

The sleuth seemed unimpressed. "I didn't ask you", he stated.  
>"Yeah, more like demanded", John muttered, but the tall man didn't listen to him. He pulled the door open. Turning his head back to John, he said: "The Name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Bakerstreet."<p>

He winked and with the door closing, he disappeared out into the night.  
>John just stared at out of the shattered window, not able to move. <em>What the hell was that?!<em>, the thought.

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><p><em><span>AN:<span> First meeting succeded! Yay :)_  
><em>- I don't own anything - <em>  
><em>Merry Christmas<em>  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	5. December 5

December 5

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><p><strong><span>Thieves beware (part 4)<span>**

The next day John paced through the hut. He was really curious for this Sherlock Holmes fellow. He wanted to go to 221B Bakerstreet in – he glanced at the watch he had stolen yesterday – half an hour. But it wasn't save. No, it was absolutely not. The chances where high that he immediately would get arrested there if he showed up. After all the man was a detective who worked with a DI.  
>But if Sherlock would have wanted to catch him, he could have it done yesterday, couldn't he?<br>The pickpocket frowning stared down at his kitbag.  
><em>I have to be completely mad<em>, he thought as he grabbed it and turned to the door.

A few minutes later he was veering towards Piccadilly Circus. The street was crowded with people who were busy hurrying from shop to shop. As a small woman with an open handbag (_some people were so stupid!_) passed him, he reached inside and stole her purse. He strolled to the tube station, counting the money while walking. He grinned as he held the notes in his hands. The dark red wallet contained 70£. Content that it would get him through the day, he grabbed the pounds and dropped the wallet into the nearest bin.

Suddenly John stopped. _What was he doing?!_ He intended to go to a detective and stole on his way there? As if Sherlock with that creepy stare of his couldn't see it right away. He was an idiot, really. How had he ever got the idea to go there? John shook his head. That had been foolish.  
>The pickpocket turned around to go back to the hut, his momentary hide-out, though he would have to change places now that the detective knew where he lived.<p>

He hadn't come far as a cab stopped directly beside him. The door opened and dark curls came into sight which were quickly followed by the pale face with the high cheekbones that belonged to Sherlock Holmes. The detective smiled at him and then immediately frowned, as if he was chiding himself for showing niceness.  
>"John, glad you accepted my offer. Now, get in, we have to stop at Bakerstreet to sort out a few things before heading to Regent's Park."<p>

John's mouth fell open before he could prevent it. He quickly closed it again, not wanting to look stupid as he gaped at the man in front of him. Did he always try to appear in the most dramatic way possible or was that just with the pickpocket?  
>But before John realized what he was doing he slipped into the cab, resting the kitbag on his knees. "I…. uhm…. What…uhm…are we doing in Regent's park exactly?", he stammered. He mentally slapped himself for the awkwardness. He wasn't normally one to get all shy and reluctant. But, however, you didn't get more or less kidnapped by a consulting detective every day.<p>

Sherlock gave him a little smile. "Showing you the ropes, obviously", he said, his eyes twinkling excited.  
>Maybe he did have a reason to get worried, John thought, frowning worriedly at the detective.<p>

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><p><em><span>AN:<span> I am truely sorry, I know, this is reeeaaally short. But I don't have that much time because I will fly to Berlin over the weekend, so the next few chapters will be a bit shorter then the first ones... But I will make it up to you after Berlin, I promise!_  
><em>- I own nothing - <em>  
><em>Merry Christmas, <em>  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	6. December 6

December 6

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><p><span><strong>Thieves beware (part 5)<strong>

The cab stopped right before _Speedy's_ cafe a few minutes later. They got out and Sherlock led John to a black door with the golden letters _221B_ on it. They went up some stairs before entering a rather untidy flat. The black curled man waved at the sofa.  
>"Make yourself comfortable, I'll be right back", he said before he disappeared in what seemed to be his bedroom.<p>

John looked around. Everywhere was stuff lying, some of the things he had no idea for what the detective could use them. At one wall hung a huge scull of a cow with long bowed horns. There were a few pounds lying on the table and John took them without further thinking and stuffed them into his pocket. Then he sat himself in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace and rested the pillow with the Union Jack that had laid there on his lap. He wasn't comfortable sitting on the sofa, it was too personal. After all he didn't intent to stay long. He didn't even know why he had come here at all. He had just seen the human skull on the mantelpiece _(was that thing real?!)_ as Sherlock came back. When he looked at John his lips curled into a knowing smile but he didn't say something.

He walked over to the kitchen table which was clattered with loads of chemical stuff and pulled a yellow file out of a stack of paper. Then he walked back to John, settling into the chair opposite him and gave him the file.  
>"This is the case file of the last few strangulations. It's relatively simple, really. There's a drugs dealing point nearly in the middle of Regent's park and a violent addict didn't want to pay and killed some dealers. But we have little problem. He was clever, didn't leave any evidence. We can't arrest him without, but I am fairly sure he still has the rope with him. There must be some victim's DNS on it. I need you to steal that rope. He knows me, so I can't get it myself and the police stupidly isn't allowed to do that their self. Although I doubt they could manage it, that moron's who they are."<p>

John snorted at that comment. They were fools, really. He had gotten himself into a few situations where they could have caught him if they weren't so unbelievable correct with the law. Not that he was unhappy about that.  
>He looked at Sherlock and tilted his head over the asking expression on his face.<br>"So, now I do what? Pretend I'm a dealer and steal the rope from him? Go and risk my life for the _police_?", he asked with raised brows.

Sherlock smiled. "Exactely", he stated, his eyes twinkling again, the same excitement he had in the cab. John shook his head, a grin beginning to form at his lips.  
>"Sounds good. I'll do it", he said, now fully smirking.<br>"Then get up, we have to go", the detective ordered, raising from his chair and walking over to the door. Without turning around to John he added: "And put the money back on the table."

John gaped at his back, a blush climbing up his neck.

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><p><span>AN:<span>_ Sooo, this is chapter six! I know, it's only fifth december, but I'm abroad till the 8th, so I'll post the next three chapters now. Try to read every chaper only on the day for which it is ;) _  
><em>The next two chapters will be a one-shot that I split into two chapters. It's a story I have already posted on this account, so I hope you haven't read it so that you don't know it already. But I'll continue <span>Thieves beware<span> after my short holiday, I promise! Sorry again! _  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	7. December 7

December 7

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><p><strong><span>I'll always be there for you (part one)<span>**

Sherlock looked up from his book as someone tossed a little paper through the classroom. No, not someone, his best friend John. He smiled at him and opened it. _Are you coming around after school?_, was scribbled on it. The dark-curled boy looked up again. He locked eyes with John, nodded and gave him a brief grin. Then he continued reading the paragraph about the French revolution. _How tedious_, he thought. He was anxious for the end of the history class, his last class of the day.

When the bell _finally_ rang John strolled over to him, grinning.  
>"How many mistakes has he made today?", he asked Sherlock. He closed his book and rolled his eyes.<br>"I lost count after 53. Honestly, has he studied history at all?!" John chuckled. Sherlock complained after every lesson how incompetent the correspondent teacher was. If the two boys sat next to each other, he was always mumbling corrections to John. That was why most teachers had changed the seating arrangements, so as Mr. Flemming, their history teacher.  
>John and Sherlock walked together out of the classroom, heading for the school entrance. They talked about the exam they had this Friday. "Could you help me a bit with chemistry?", John asked, as they had nearly reached the exit. When Sherlock nodded in agreement, a voice called after them.<br>"Are you serious? You're still wasting your time with that freak? You've lost it completely, haven't you?"  
>It was Sally Donovan. To make it short: John hated her with passion. She insulted Sherlock on every occasion she could get. After John got friends with the genius, she had started to tell him every time they passed her, that he was wasting his time with him and that he should look for a hobby. He turned around abruptly, glaring at her. "Yes, Sally, I'm still hanging out with <em>Sherlock<em> instead of wasting my time with people like _you_.", he spat. He could feel Sherlock grabbing his arm. "John, she isn't worth it. Let her talk", he said, tugging slightly at him. The blond boy took a deep breath. _Relax_, he thought, _Sherlock is right_. Then he turned around and let Sherlock pull him out of the school building.  
>The cool autumn breeze outside helped to calm him down.<br>"How can you stay so calm, when she says things like this?", he asked Sherlock, unbelieving. The other boy just shrugged.  
>"What does it help me to get offended? She won't stop anyway, I'll just lose my energy fighting her." John shook his head, but let the subject drop.<br>"Any idea what we should do?", he asked instead.  
>A sparkle glowed in Sherlock's eyes.<br>"Let's play Cluedo!", he exclaimed, smirking.  
>"Oh no, forget it, I am <em>never<em> playing with you Cluedo ever again. _Never_. You just don't get it!"  
>"Of course <em>I<em> get it. It's obvious that the rules are wrong! It had to be the victim, there's no other solution!", he said defending himself. John and Sherlock argued the entire way to John's house over Cluedo. When they finally reached the front door, John stopped short.  
>"But if it would have been Bloom, then- John? John, what's wrong?" Sherlock let his gaze wander over his best friend's frightened expression.<br>"He is already home. I thought he would work till tonight", he whispered, not moving.  
>"Oh."<br>Sherlock thought quickly what they should do. John's dad was blaming his son for the death of his wife. She had died in a car crash as she had driven John to a clarinet-concert. Her son had miraculously survived with nothing but a big scar on his shoulder, but she hadn't got out of the car in time. Like John's sister Harriet, Mr. Watson had started to drink in his grieve, and he had looked for someone to blame for the accident. He had started to punch John, whenever John did something wrong and even if he had nothing done at all. Sherlock knew about it, and he hated Mr. Watson for it. Nobody should punch his best friend. He invited John to his house whenever he could and they normally only were at John's when his father was out. Now he had come home early, as it seemed.  
>"Maybe we should go over to my house-", Sherlock started, as the front door swung open and Mr. Watson looked down at them with bleary eyes. He was already drunk.<br>"John, you're late", he growled and grabbed John's collar to drag him inside. The blond boy winced and followed his dad quickly. Sherlock hurried after them.  
>"Why are you late?! You should have been home for 10 minutes! Do I have to do everything myself? I told you to do the washing when you're home!", he growled at his son. John seemed to shrink under his father's gaze.<br>"I'm sorry, dad", he mumbled.  
>"Speak up, boy!", Mr. Watson barked. Sherlock couldn't hold it. Nobody should speak like this to John, brave, loyal John who defended him against everyone.<br>"It wasn't John's fault. Our history teacher overran the class", he hissed angrily. The drunk man turned to Sherlock. He made a step forward, but Sherlock didn't back away.  
>"So, did he?", Mr. Watson asked dangerously. Sherlock nodded. He couldn't speak. Maybe he wasn't as courageous as he had thought.<br>"And why the fucking hell do you think, you can interject a conversation between me and my son?! Who do you think you are?", Mr. Watson shouted, getting louder with every word. And before any of the boys could do something, he punched Sherlock straight in the face. The dark curled boy stumbled back, his eyes tearing up from the pain.  
>He saw how John straightened up. He took a deep breath and said calmly: "Father." Surprised by the tone of his son's voice, Mr. Watson turned back to John. But before he could say anything, the blond boy punched him in the stomach as hard as he could. Mr. Watson winced. John punched again. "You. Will. Never. Ever. Punch. Sherlock. Again.", he shouted, beating parts of his father's body with every word.<br>After a moment, Mr. Watson seemed to overcome his surprise. "You-", he shrieked in fury, lost for words. He hauled off with his hand but Sherlock grabbed John's arm and dragged him out of the house like a bolt. John stumbled a few times but when they had left the front door behind, he began to run properly. Sherlock still clinging to him they ran, and ran, as far away from John's house as they could.

* * *

><p><em><span>AN:<span> To understand why this is up already read the AN in chapter 6!_  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	8. December 8

December 8

* * *

><p><strong><span>I'll always be there for you (part two)<span>**

After what felt like hours of running, they finally came to a halt. Sherlock quickly absorbed their surroundings. They were standing at the edge of a forest, next to a big meadow. As he looked back to John, his best friend slumped down on the ground. Tears began to stream down his face. Sherlock sat next to him and pulled John into a hug. He stroke his back as John sobbed against his shoulders. He nestled his nose into his blond hair, mumbling comforting words. They sat like this untill the sun began to sink. Finally, John sat up. "Thanks, Sherlock", he mumbled, red-eyed.

"You have to go to the police, John. I know it's difficult because he is your father, but you have to. You can't let him punch you all the time. You'll break", he said, reached out and wished a tear from John's cheek. Then he let his hand fall down, suddenly aware what he was doing and blushed a bit. John took a deep breath.  
>"I know. But not tonight. I can't tonight. I'll go tomorrow… Would you, maybe…?" He drifted away.<br>"Of course I'll come with you", Sherlock said and smiled a bit, as he gave John his _obvious_-look. John smiled too. He lay down on the grass, Sherlock doing the same next to him. They looked up at the stars which had come visible at the dark sky. A warm breeze swished over them. After a little while of silence, Sherlock sighed contently. He watched the stars blink and sparkle.  
>"Beautiful, isn't it?", he whispered to John. But John wasn't looking at the sky anymore. He had turned at his side, so that he faced Sherlock. "Yes", he whispered back, resting his eyes on Sherlock's face. Sherlock looked over at him.<br>"John, you're not even looking up", he stated, questioningly.  
>"I don't have to", John said. Sherlock blushed. He turned over to his side too, so that he was facing John.<br>"John", he started, but the blond boy laid a finger on his lips. "Hush, don't ruin the moment", he whispered and came a bit closer. Sherlock could feel butterflies going mad in his stomach, as he leaned nearer to John. He gently took John's finger off his lips and intertwined their fingers.  
>"You're beautiful", John breathed. Sherlock closed the gap between them and when his lips touched John's, all his thoughts stopped. Only one word raved through his mind. <em>John. John. John. John. John.<em> The kiss sparked a fire inside him and when their lips parted after a while, he could see John's eyes sparkle.  
>"John, I promise you, that whatever happens, I'll be there for you", he whispered and kissed him again.<p>

* * *

><p><em><span>AN:<span> To understand why this is up already read the AN of chapter 6._  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	9. December 9

December 9

* * *

><p><span><strong>Thieves beware (part 6)<strong>

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade couldn't believe his eyes when a black cab stopped in front of Regent's park and _two_ men got out. Sherlock never had company, especially not at crime scenes. The man who followed him was short, had dirty blond hair and walked very straight. He wasn't unconfident, that much could the DI tell. As they reached the yellow tape, Sherlock held it up to let him in. Curiously Lestrade approached them.

"Hi, Sherlock. Thank you for coming. And who is this?", he asked, tilting his head in the direction of the blond. "He's with me", the consulting detective stated bluntly.

"And who is he?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "As I said, he's with me. I appreciate his help."

"You what?!", came a spluttered feminine voice from behind them. Sherlock sighed. "John, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade and this", he waved dismissively at a tall woman with long black curly bait who walked up to them, "is Sergeant Donovan." A grin tugged at John's lips as if he knew who they where. Lestrade tilted his head questioningly. _What__had__Sherlock__told__this__man__about__them__?_

"The freak needs help from someone? Are you ill?", Sally snarled at Sherlock didn't even roll his eyes, but strode down towards the body.

"Same as the others?", he asked Lestrade. Greg still watched John as he followed the consulting detective.

"Yes, same again. Any ideas who did this?", he asked, finally turning his attention to the black curled back of the head in front of him.

"A few", Sherlock stated vaguely. He crouched down next to the body and began to inspect it.

A few minutes of silence followed as Sherlock made his deductions. Lestrade had been lost in thought when he startled because of the movement besides him. This mysterious John-fellow had approached him, positioning himself right at his side as he watched Sherlock.

Lestrade scanned him trying to get more information.

"How'd you meet Sherlock again?", he asked when he came to no conclusion.

John smirked.

"Let's say he kinda crossed my way." The blonde's eyes twinkled mischievously as he grinned at the Inspector. But before he could ask what that meant Sherlock rose.

"John, we're going now. Inspector, I'll write you later. I have to check on something before I do any conclusions."

And with swish of his coat the consulting detective and his mysterious companion disappeared into the streets of London.

* * *

><p><em><span>AN:<span> This fanfiction is nearing his end, I feel it... Not any much longer 'til you get your Johnlock finally ;) _  
><em>Btw: I'm back from Berlin! It was soooo wonderful, all the christmas-lights everywhere... *sighs*<em>  
><em>- I own nothing - <em>  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	10. December 10

December 10

* * *

><p><strong><span>Thieves beware (part 7)<span>**

The experienced pickpocket John Watson had changed his profession a few weeks ago to the assistant of Sherlock Holmes and had moved in with him. He used the spear bedroom upstairs 221B.

Detective Inspector Lestrade and the rest of the yard still didn't know where he had come from, but after all it wasn't surprising that something strange happened around a man like the consulting detective. John was quickly accepted at the crime scenes, thanks to his ability to make Sherlock a bit less sociopathic.

The two men got rather quick quite close. They chased criminals together, went undercover, looked for informants either John or Sherlock knew from their past on the street (The pickpocket had been really surprised when he learned that his flatmate was an ex-drug addict.) and sipped hundreds of cups of tea during the time in-between.

But when after a few days of boredom and three new holes in the wall a new case came in, something would change.

"Okay, what do we have?", John asked Sherlock after the client had gone.  
>"She is sure that he hasn't overdosed, but it was a murder. I believe her, there is something about this case. He worked in this gay club", he waved his hand dismissively, "and he was gay to. Maybe we're looking for somebody who hates homosexuals. But that would be dull." John snorted, but the detective ignored him and added: "We have to get a look. I need to see his working place. After all, that was the last place where he was seen alive."<p>

The pickpocket nearly choked on his tea. Coughing he put his cup down.  
>"You… want to go to a gay bar?", he asked incredulously. Sherlock frowned.<br>"Of course. Haven't you listened? He worked there!" He glared at him. "Problem with that?", he added, raising an eyebrow.  
>"I… err… no! It's just… you and I going to a gay bar <em>together<em>…. People might talk."

The detective turned his back to him as he began to walk in the direction of his bedroom.  
>"That's exactly what I want", he called over his shoulder, "we're going undercover. Dress up!"<br>And with that, he closed the door behind him.

John gaped at the offending wood between him and his mad friend. He felt a blush creeping up his neck. Quickly he got up, storming out of the living room and stomping up the stairs. _Why the hell had Sherlock always to make him look like an idiot?! He swished off to his bedroom, letting John sitting there as if he had done something wrong. _The pickpocket grumbled. If Sherlock wanted to play a couple with him, he would get him a show. He would see where his teasing had led him to.

An idea beginning to form in his mind, John started to smirk at his wardrobe. "Well, two can play that game, Sherlock", he said to nobody.

* * *

><p>When Sherlock had changed into his tight-fitting jeans and a blank white t-shirt, which he had both bought for a case some years ago and never bothered to throw away, he stared at himself in the mirror.<br>He would never understand why people associated gays with tight clothes. If he would have any sexual interests, he was sure he would prefer men over women. He just couldn't cope with all that whining and he knew more about the anatomy of men, obviously. But that didn't matter because he _wasn't _sexually attracted to_ anyone. _People were just so dull.  
>He ruffled his hair to look a bit more casual and then turned around and headed for the living room.<p>

It was empty. He frowned over the slowness of his flatmate.  
>"John? Are you coming?", he asked impatiently.<br>"On my way", came the answer before he could hear footsteps descending the stairs.

When the door to the living room opened, Sherlock's eyes went wide. John stood in the doorframe wearing trousers that hugged his hips, a blue shirt which had the first three buttons open and a leather jacket, which completed his outfit. He smirked at him, his eyes glittering with mischief as he noticed how stunned the detective was. Quickly, he pulled himself together and managed to get a façade on his face. He cleared his throat, trying to speak around the lump which had formed there.  
>"Uhm… We should go", he managed. <em>What the hell was wrong with him?!<em>

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry you had to wait so long today! But I made it up to you, this part is extra long AND now the story begins to get further to Johnlock ;)<br>- I still don't own anything, otherways JOHNLOCK! -  
>Merry Christmas,<br>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes


	11. December 11

December 11

* * *

><p><span><strong>Thieves beware (part 8)<strong>

When they took a cab to the gay bar Sherlock tried to avoid looking at John. He stared intensely out of the window. He wouldn't bother with the strange behaving if his stomach now, they had a case, for god's sake. He had to _focus_!  
>But when he had seen John in this <em>clothes<em>, his heart had begun to flutter.  
>Why did he behave like that?<br>Why did his _transport_ react in such a way to John's appearance?

"Stop!", he shouted, pulling at his black curls.  
>"I didn't do anything!", John argued offended.<br>"Yes you did! You do! You're so...", he waved his hand looking for the right word, "distracting."  
>John raised his eyebrows. "I'm distracting?"<br>"Yes", Sherlock answered, pouting.  
>"And how do I distract you? Am I thinking too loud?", he mocked.<br>The detective glared at him. "No. It's just the..."

Suddenly he trailed off. A terrible thought had crossed his mind. Normal people were only that much affected by clothes of others when they were attracted to them. Generally all those strange symptoms his body provided were a clear sign for attraction. But certainly _he_ wasn't attracted to John.  
>Fear ran down his spine. Attraction had to do with emotions. <em>Caring<em>. That wasn't good, no.  
><em>Alone protects me. Caring is not an advantage,<em>he thought.

"Sherlock? Are you okay? You look very pale", John asked, concerned over the state his friend had suddenly got in.  
>To Sherlock's great relieve the cab reached the bar just in this moment. Quickly, he slipped out of the car to avoid answering. John would deal with the paying.<p>

* * *

><p>John sighed when Sherlock left him behind in the car. Quickly he gave the cabby some pounds and followed his flatmate outside. A frosty wind blew through his hair and he shivered slightly. Maybe the leather jacket had been a bit too thin for December. But it had definitely been worth it. That look on Sherlock's face, utterly stunned! The pickpocket chuckled as he approached him. The tall man was leaning at a wall, waiting for him so that they could enter the bar which was in the next block. His face looked like it was made out of stone. John couldn't identify any emotion on it. <em>At last he's back to his usual<em>, he thought.

"Take your time, John. It isn't as if we had a murderer to catch", Sherlock grumbled impatiently.  
>John just smirked. "Since when are you waiting for me and not running off like mad anyway?", he teased, now standing just two steps away. Sherlock rolled his eyes.<br>"We're supposed to play a couple. It really wouldn't be convincing if I appeared without you. So, come on now", he ordered, suddenly invading John's personal space. He took the shorter man's hand and interlaced their fingers.

John couldn't do anything else for a moment than staring down at their fingers and then back to Sherlock who was the one smirking now. But he didn't pull away when the detective led them into the direction of the pub.

As the large neon-sign came into sight, Sherlock leaned down to his ear and purred: "Ready sweetheart?"  
>And with a shiver running down his spine which he successfully ignored he grinned up at him. "Of course honey."<p>

* * *

><p><em><span>AN:<span> Oh I am so proud of this chapter! Hope you enjoy it as much as I do ;) _  
><em>Sorry again for posting this so late... This time of the year is just utterly stressful... <em>  
><em>Anyway, I don't own anything. <em>

_Thank you all so much for reading this! Special thanks to the ones who followed this story and/or faved it. And thanks for the lovely reviews! It is very motivating for me! _  
><em>Merry Christmas, <em>  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	12. December 12

December 12

* * *

><p><span><strong>Thieves beware (part 9)<strong>

The bar was loud and crowded. Everywhere were dancing people, pressing their sweating bodys against each other.  
>"Brilliant", John grumbled. "How are we supposed to get survey here?"<br>Sherlock just smiled at him. "The best disguise is the crowd. Nobody will remember us." He led them to the bar, where they watched the dancing people for a little while in silence.

"Who are we looking for, exactely?", John asked after some minutes.  
>"The murderer", Sherlock stated bluntly.<br>The pickpocket gaped at him. "You know already who he is?", he asked incredulously.  
>Sherlock smirked. "I have a suspicion. Stay here. I'll go and look for him on the dancefloor." And with that, he disappeared into the croud.<p>

John rolles his eyes, shaking his head about his flatmate. Then he turned around to the bar and ordered a whiskey.  
>He sipped at the drink, letting his eyes wander over the crowd, when a man sat down behind him. He was tall and had ginger hair. He leaned over to John, invading his personal space and purred: "Hi gorgeous, what are you doing here so all alone?", into his ear. John shuddered, but not because of pleasure.<p>

"I...err...", he stuttered. He couldn't think of a good answer.  
>"Don't you think it's too loud here?", the man asked, a fake frown on his face. "Why don't we look for a place a bit more... <em>private<em>?", he added, winking at him.  
>John blushed, opening his mouth to say something. But before he could, he was interrupted by a familiar baritone behind him.<br>He felt Sherlock's arms wrap around his belly from behind, as the detective said: "Hi love, I'm back. And who is this friendly fellow here?"

Relieved John leaned back against Sherlock's front. The ginger haired man backed a bit away a bit.  
>"Oh, you two... Are together?", he asked locking back and forth between them. John nodded. "Yes, he's my boyfriend. So would you please stop flirting with him and let us alone?", Sherlock stated coolly.<p>

At his words John's heart started to flutter. A grin tugged at his lips. For a strange reason he liked hearing this from Sherlock. But before he could think further about it, the man disappeared to the dancing floor and Sherlock let go of him. He walked around him to the bar and pulled a little plastic bag out of his jacket and put the glass of the ginger haired man in it. Then he turned around, winking at John.  
>"Fingerprints saved."<p>

* * *

><p><em><span>AN:<span> Sorry, this is short... But many things happens ;) Can you feel the love in the air?_  
><em>I don't own anything. <em>  
><em>Merry Christmas<em>  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	13. December 13

December 13

* * *

><p><strong><span>Thieves beware (part 1010) **

After leaving the bar, John and Sherlock went to Scotland Yard. The consulting detective told them everything about the murder and the ginger haired man who he had identified as the killer. The work was quickly done and the habitants of 221B found themselves soon on the street in front of the yard. When Sherlock started to look for a cab, John stopped him.

"I feel like walking. We're not that far away from home, let's don't take a cab", he proposed.

Sherlock merrily nodded and started heading to Baker Street.

They walked in silence for a long time. The tall detective couldn't keep himself from glimpsing every few minutes down to John. His flatmate seemed to be deep in thought. He let his gaze wander down John's body, admiring the sight. Quickly he looked back to the street again. What was he doing?! This whole _feelings_ thing wasn't good. He should stop, definitely. But he couldn't.  
>Sherlock frowned. There was almost nothing he could not do on this earth, why would something that simple and mundane like <em>feelings<em> be his limit?

Sherlock's attention snapped back to reality as John suddenly stopped behind him. He turned around, facing the pickpocket who stared at him, gaping, disbelieve written all over his face.  
>The sleuth tried to deduce what happened but for once he couldn't.<br>"What's wrong?", he asked, hating it that he didn't know.

John blushed. He avoided his eyes awkwardly, looking down to his shoes.  
>"Nothing", he mumbled.<br>"No, John, something happened and I can't deduce it. Tell me", he demanded.

John sighed. "Sherlock, can we please, just go on? We're nearly at home."

The dark curled man eyed him up. Even if he couldn't deduce what was wrong, he _did_ know that John wouldn't tell him until they were at home. Without a word, he turned around and started striding down the road to 221B.  
>Behind him he could hear his friend's relieved sigh.<p>

* * *

><p>Reluctantly John followed his flatmate back home. He knew Sherlock would ask again as soon as they were inside. He couldn't be miffed about it really, after all he <em>did<em> behave himself strange. But he hadn't been able to do anything else, when the realisation had hit him.

The whole evening since they had gone out to the gay bar he'd known that something had changed. He had wondered why he felt strange things around Sherlock. And then, as they walked in silence and he had glimpsed at Sherlock who had seemed to be deep in thought about something, a realization had crossed his mind which had made his heart first stop and then beat in double speed.

He, John Hamish Watson, _Three Continent Watson_, was in love with his best friend and official high-functioning sociopath Sherlock bloody Holmes. And that was a real problem, because maybe his flatmate hadn't figured it out yet, but he would surely soon. After all it was _Sherlock_.

So, when they entered 221B, John's heart sped up. They walked up the stair and entered the living room. Suddenly Sherlock turned around to face him. He was standing only two steps away and searched in John's eyes for an answer to his question.

"John. You're upset. Have I done something wrong?", he asked frowning. John sighed. It wasn't as if Sherlock had asked concernedly, no, merrily interested what could bring the pickpocket in such a state. "No Sherlock, you didn't do anything wrong", he answered plainly.  
>"Then what's the matter?"<br>"I… You don't wanna know." John turned around heading to his chair, but Sherlock quickly grabbed his arm. At the touch a tingling raced through his body and his heart beat even faster if possible. The detective spun him around again a scolding glitter in his eyes.  
>"You're being illogical. Why should I ask if not because I want to know?", he questioned, shaking his head slightly.<p>

John blushed. "I… err… you really don't wanna know, Sherlock, believe me."  
>Suddenly the detective's facial expression went hard. "Oh", he stated, "why didn't I see it earlier? It has something to do with feelings. You've probably come to the realization that one of your loads of women is<em> the one<em>."  
>John blushed even further, but not for the reason Sherlock thought.<br>"I… No! I don't have loads of women", he argued.  
>The detective merrily raised his eyebrows. "So I'm right. Is it the boring teacher? I think your cause is lost there, after all she cheated on you with three other men, one of them her ex-husband."<p>

The blonde man shook his head. "No, I broke off with Jeanette weeks ago. Why didn't you tell me sooner she was cheating on me?", he asked, pretending to be angry. G_ood one Watson, changing the subject_, he thought by himself as his mind raced to find a solution how he should get out of here.  
>But Sherlock didn't even listen to his words.<br>"Good. I hope you'll be happy with whoever is _the one_. I'm going to bed", he pressed bluntly, turning around and disappearing into his room.

John gaped after him, mouth standing open. What was off with Sherlock? Since when was he bothered about his love life, and – even more important – since when did he voluntary go to bed?  
>Hesitant he made a few steps towards the closed door. He knocked.<br>"What?", a voice called annoyed.  
>"Can I come in?", John called back, but he didn't wait for an answer. Slowly he opened the door, getting sight of Sherlock who laid on his bed face down.<p>

"Uhm… Sherlock, why are you upset?", he asked.  
>A muffled voice answered him. "I'm not upset."<br>John chuckled slightly. "Yes you are. Now, stop pouting and talk to me."  
>Sherlock sat up, turning to him. "I am not pouting."<br>The pickpocket quirked a brow. "So?"  
>"Idunnow", the sleuth mumbled.<br>"Sorry, what was that?", John asked, now smirking.

For one moment Sherlock only glared at him. Then he sighed, looking down at the bed, before answering: "I don't know why I am upset! I don't know why you keep racing through my mind or why you look so distracting in this clothes or why I didn't like this murderer _flirting_ with you in the bar or why I hate knowing you're in love with some mundane woman which merrily stay a few weeks before she gets too annoyed with me to be together with you. I don't understand _feelings_."

John couldn't breathe. He looked at Sherlock, his heart stuttering and butterflies racing through his stomach. Was this real or had he just imagined it?  
>The detective still didn't look at him and when his flatmate didn't answer, he added: "Please don't leave. I don't want… I mean it would be illogical. You can't afford a flat alone anyway."<p>

And with that sentence, John snapped back into reality. A soft smile caressed his face, as he leaned a bit closer to his best friend.  
>"Sherlock", he called, but the detective didn't look up. "Sherlock, look at me."<br>He gently stretched a hand out and lifted Sherlock's chin. In the eyes of the man before him he could see emotions changing. Fear. Then confusion. Then disbelieve. And the emotion which stayed was hope.

Without another word John leaned forward, Sherlock's face coming nearer and nearer, until his eyes fluttered shut and their lips met. The kiss wasn't long, just a light peck, but it contained everything they couldn't bring to words. And soon they kissed again, this time longer and more passionate, John's hands wandering through Sherlock's dark curls and latter slinging his arms around his pickpocket, his flatmate, his best friend, his lover. And when they both needed oxygen they pressed their foreheads against each other, breathing in the other's scent in content silence.

After a while John started to chuckle: "If I had ever known that getting caught at a theft from a detective would lead to this, I would have done it much earlier."  
>He could feel Sherlock's smile growing as he joined in in the chuckle. The detective leaned forwards once more, speaking his words against John's lips. "Thieves beware."<p>

~ The End ~

* * *

><p><em><span>AN:<span> This was the longest more-than-one-chapter-story I've ever written! Hope you liked it! Tell me how you find it/it's end please._  
><em>Don't worry, "A Johnlock before Christmas" continues, it's just "Thieves beware" which is finished.<em>  
><em>Again, thanks to all of you who read this, added it to your favourits andor commented! It's all of you who motivate me to go on and write fluffy things like this! :)_  
><em>- I don't own anything, otherwise this would be the end of series 3. -<em>  
><em>Merry Christmas,<em>  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	14. December 14

December 14

* * *

><p><strong><span>The hammock<span>**

When the winter break started, I stood with a big trunk in front of Holmes' manor. I had been standing there for the last half an hour. Unsure I scratched my neck. Should I just knock? Maybe it was better to just turn around and go back again. Though not home. Really, I had nowhere else to go. So I sighed, finally doing the last few steps to the door and knocked at the dark massive wood. Immediately the large door swung open and the face of my best friend, Sherlock Holmes, appeared. I was immediately scanned by the teen's deducing gaze.

"So they did it really", he greeted me, a frown beginning to build on his face. I shrugged.  
>"Yeah. I never doubted it. Harry's at Clara's."<br>Sherlock stepped aside to let me in. When the comfortable warmth surrounded me, I immediately began to relax. For the first time since the big argument I guess.  
>The dark curled boy next to me didn't wait till I had put my shoes and jacket off. He immediately strode down the corridor and disappeared into a room on the left side.<br>"Mummy, John's here. He'll stay for the rest of the break. We're in my room now", I could hear him call through the house. I stood there, a bit unsure whether to follow him or wait until I was demanded to. Before I could make a decision, Sherlock's face reappeared, he was glimpsing around the corner.  
>"Are you coming?", he asked, raising his eyebrows. Quickly I grabbed my trunk and shoved it down the corridor.<p>

I followed the boy who was much taller than me and didn't bother to help me with my things many stairs up. We ascended till the third floor, going a few steps before halting for a door whose wood was painted dark blue.  
>When we entered the room I glanced around curiously. I had never been in Sherlock's house before and didn't know his room. Since dorm number 221B which we shared at our school was always messy full of chemical stuff, I thought something similar would await me. But I hadn't expected this.<br>Sherlock's room was wonderfully furnished with furniture in dark colours, though large windows at one side of the room made it looking light. The walls where blue so as the curtain and altogether the room wasn't that large as you would expect it for a house of this size. It was cleaned up neatly, probably Mrs. Holmes' work, and didn't look like Sherlock had lived there for long at all.

My best friend just slumped onto his bed, waving his hand through the room. "Make yourself at home. Markus will provide a mattress for you later."  
>I stabled my trunk in one corner next to a large cupboard before I joined Sherlock on the bed. We sat there in silence for a while, me nestling around with the sleeves of my jumper and Sherlock watching me.<br>"Your parents are unreasonable", he stated after a while. I shrugged.  
>"Even if they did kick your sister out because she's is interested in women more than in men, which is definitely not the way how you should support your daughter by the way, why should they kick out you too?"<p>

I blushed a bit. The true answer would have been _because I yelled at them in the argument that I was in love with my best friend who is male_, but I couldn't say that of course. So I answered instead: "I defended her. Was on her side. So I'm not better than her in their eyes." That wasn't even a lie, technically speaking. I felt my shoulders slump a bit. I looked down at my lap, avoiding Sherlock's eyes. I could see him shift awkwardly, probably not sure what to do. Before he could fail at comforting me however, I quickly changed the subject.

"This house is huge! How many floors does it have?", I asked him, glancing up at the ceiling.  
>Clearly relieved over my change Sherlock flashed me a quick smile.<br>"This is the last floor. Above us is only the attic left. I grinned.  
>"I suppose it's a dark and dusty one where ghosts are floating around", I chuckled. Sherlock shook his head. "No, I have my labour up there. And a large hammock where I can think in silence."<br>I looked up at him excitedly. "You have a hammock? Can I see it?"  
>He only shrugged. "I suppose."<p>

Quickly we climbed up the stairs and Sherlock opened an old door. The room was unusual clean for an attic, if you ignored the one half which was covered with chemical stuff. The other half though looked very comfortable. There was a large mattress and above hung a huge hammock. Flashing a grin at Sherlock I darted forward, lunging for it. But Sherlock, who had predicted my plan, grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back. We fought our way to the hammock, pulling and pushing each other in order to get in first. In the end, we happened to lay both in it, me on top of him. I looked down at his and began to giggle uncontrollably. After a short moment of trying to stay serious Sherlock joined in. We laughed a long time and I couldn't remember when I had laughed this hard the last time.

* * *

><p><em><span>AN:<span> Well, this was supposed to be a one-shot, but it got 1,7k long so I split it up into two parts. It'll get fluffier tomorrow, promise._  
><em>This is basically teen!lock where John &amp; Sherlock go to school together and share a dorm. I am in love with teen!lock, yes. I just really enjoy it.<em>  
><em>Soo... look forward to tomorrow! ;)<em>  
><em>I don't own anything.<em>  
><em>Merry Christmas,<em>  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	15. December 15

December 15

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><p><strong><span>The hammock (22)**

When we finally quietened again, my head was resting on my best friend's chest, our legs interlaced through the play fight. I didn't dare to move. I didn't want him to be reminded how we were positioned, to tell me to get off because it was to intimate for him. I breathed his scent in deeply. He smelled like rain and oddly enough like cinnamon and like nicotine patches (at last he had given up smoking after his big brother Mycroft had caught him once) and like _Sherlock_. I let my eyes flutter shut, fearing the moment when he would reject me.

After a while of silence I felt how Sherlock lifted his hand. Hesitant he let his fingers slide through my short blond hair once, and when I didn't say anything, he did it again. The skin on my head tingled with every touch and my breath hitched when his thumb grazed my forehead. I could feel my heartrate increase, and since my front was pressed to Sherlock's chest, I was sure he could feel it to.  
>"John", he murmured gently. I didn't react. I didn't want him to stop running his fingers through my hair, I didn't want him to tell me to get off, I didn't want him to know how much I had fallen in love with him. But it was Sherlock. And Sherlock had never been one to give up easily.<p>

"John", he called again, a bit more impatient now. I raised my head slowly, looking down at his face. He watched me, his eyes roaming over my face, searching. I didn't dare to breathe. Would he see it? Did he know already? I could feel my heart thundering in my throat.  
>"They didn't kick you out just because you were defending Harry, right?", he asked, his voice more gentle that I had ever heard it. I shook my head slightly, not trusting my voice. Quickly I looked away, watching the buttons of Sherlock's shirt instead of the deducing eyes in front of me.<p>

When Sherlock spoke again, his voice sounded insecure. "I… It's okay for me… I mean... uhm… I… me too", he stuttered. My eyes snapped back to his, going wide. "You…you too?", I whispered, stunned. Every moment now I would wake up, I was sure of that. This had to be a dream. He nodded hesitantly, the fear of rejection clear in his eyes. I wanted to believe him right away, but I had to make it sure that he wasn't talking about something else and that this wasn't a misunderstanding. "You mean… err… You like me too?" I could feel myself blush, but the same way I hadn't been able to look into his eyes before, I couldn't look away now.  
>"Yes, John. I… like you. Much", he mumbled, the same uncertainty I felt too obvious in his voice.<p>

A grin tugging at my lips. "Well then…", I said trailing of and leaned down to kiss him. His lips were warm and soft, more than I ever had imagined them to be. My thoughts halted completely. A tingling sensation raved through my whole body but I could feel nothing than Sherlock's warm breath mixing himself with mine, his warm lips caressing mine slowly, lovingly. I reached up at his curls, running my fingers through his dark hair like he had done it with mine before, pulling him even closer. His arms wrapped around my back, bringing our chests flushed against each other. I let my tongue brush against his under lip, begging for entrance and I could feel him shudder beneath when he gained me access. Sherlock tasted like he smelled, like rain and cinnamon and nicotine and something that I couldn't define anyhow else then completely Sherlock.

When we finally broke the kiss to get some air, I stared down into his eyes, nearly drowning in them. I smiled at him and Sherlock smiled back at me. I let my hands wander down from his hair to his high cheekbones, caressing them with my thumb. Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into the touch a bit. When I leaned down too kiss him again though, I lost my balance. I grabbed his shoulders to hold myself as the hammock swung. "Aaahhh", I cried when we fell out of it and landed on the mattress with a loud _thunk_.

Sherlock laid on top of me, spread out. I couldn't move beneath him. For a moment I couldn't react in any way, too shocked over the sudden change in places, but then I started to laugh loudly. Sherlock groaned unhappily. "Ouch", he grumbled, pulling himself up so that he straddled my lap and rubbing his head where it had hit the mattress through the landing. At the sight of his misery I couldn't help but laugh more. I giggled, holding my stomach. He glared at me, grumbling: "Shut up."  
>I grinned up at him. "Make me", I challenged. A glimmer of mischief caught his eyes, as he leaned down.<br>"I will", he promised, before he kissed me again.

* * *

><p><em><span>AN:<span> Fluffy fluff... :3 I just love it! Have a nice day, my loyal readers and thank you so much for your support!_  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	16. December 16

December 16

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><p><strong><span>Good morning<span>**

When John woke up, he could feel strong arms which where wrapped around his middle and a warm even breathing on his neck. He tried not to move, so as not to wake Sherlock who was spooning him. He smiled contently, remembering the night before when they had stood outside on the street and waited for the snow to fall. After their kiss, their _first kiss_, they had held each other for a long time, just staring in the eyes of the other one and loosing themselves in them. And then, when it had gotten too cold to stay outside, John had taken Sherlock's hand and had led them back to the holiday house. They had tiptoed back to the room they shared with Greg.

There had been a little moment of awkwardness, both of them not knowing whether it was okay to sleep in the same bed but in the end, Sherlock had tugged slightly at John's hand and had pulled them to his bed, which was a bit larger than the mattress on the floor on which John slept. They had fallen asleep cuddling, both marvelling the fact that they were so close.

Now that the sleepiness finally fell from John, he became unsure. Would it be okay for Sherlock if the others knew that they were together now? Or should he get up and speak with him before Greg woke up. He didn't want to pass him over.  
>Decision made, he gently released Sherlock's arms from his belly, starting to wiggle himself out of the bed slowly. Before he could stay up though, his best friend, boyfriend? pulled him back and held him close.<br>"Sherlock", John whispered, turning himself around so that he could see his face. The dark curled boy still had his eyes closed, but he was obviously awake.  
>He hummed in response.<br>"If we stay like this Greg will see us when he wakes up", he explained, trying to get up again.

With that the genius finally opened his eyes. "And why should that matter? Does it bother you?", he asked. In his eyes John could see the insecurity and the hurt. Quickly he dismissed his sorrows.  
>"No, of course it doesn't bother me. I just thought…It might bother you", he stated, looking back and forth between the two colours changing orbs before him.<br>Sherlock frowned. "Why should it bother _me_? That's ridiculous."

The blonde's heart began to flutter, as he quickly leaned forward and pecked Sherlock's lips.  
>"Good", he mumbled against them. Sherlock only held him tighter, answering the kiss and they lost themselves, absorbed in kissing and cuddling, forgetting everything around them.<p>

"Ugh, guys, get a room", came a bleary voice suddenly from their side. They jumped, quickly letting go of each other and turning around to a sleepy Greg, who sat grinning on his bed, watching them with a tilted head. At their shocked faces, he began to chuckle.  
>"Mike owes me fifty pounds", he said snickering.<p>

John raised his eyebrows. "Why?", he asked confused.  
>"They betted how long it would take us to get together", Sherlock's deep voice came from behind him and John turned around watching him stunned.<br>"And you knew this?", he asked with a scolding tone. The dark curled boy nodded.  
>"Why didn't you tell me?", John accused.<br>No it was Sherlock's time to raise his eyebrows.  
>"Because, if you would have known, you wouldn't have kissed me solely because you're too stubborn. That wasn't in my intentions", he answered nonchalantly and wrapped his arms around John's hip.<p>

The blonde could feel the heat crawling up his cheeks as he avoided looking at Greg, who doubled over with laughter on his bed.

* * *

><p><em><span>AN:<span> For those of you who didn't notice it, it's kind of a sequel to "snow flurry", the first story in a Johnlock before Christmas. _  
><em>Somebody asked me to continue it, that's why I wrote this Oneshot. If you liked that, just tell me, I might continue it (later) or if you want to have a sequel or prequel to some of the other stories here, message me  tell me in the reviews. _  
><em>I love to fulfil your wishes ;) <em>  
><em>- I don't own anything - <em>  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	17. December 17

December 17

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><p><strong><span>A bed for two<span>**

When John opened the door to the hotel room, he stopped dead. Sherlock, who hadn't expected him to halt directly before him, bumped into his back. The doctor stumbled forward, holding himself up at the doorknob. "Ouch", John murmured, rubbing his head where it had hit Sherlock's chin while walking into the room.

"Why did you stop?", Sherlock asked, glancing around in the room. "Oh", he murmured, before John could answer as he saw what had halted John. He blinked a few times, staring at the large double bed which was positioned at the window.  
>John sighed. "Why do people always assume that we're together? Now they don't even ask anymore!", he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration. Sherlock shifted awkwardly.<br>"It's fine. I won't sleep anyway. You can have the bed", he told him as casually as possible.  
>John frowned at him. "You have to get some sleep. You know, chasing a killer in the Swiss Alps when it's <em>snowing<em> can be pretty dangerous. You'll need your concentration."  
>Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Who says we'll have to chase her?"<br>His best friend only snorted. "We always end up chasing them. It won't be different this time. So, stop arguing. You're going to sleep."  
>The detective tilted his head. "And where am I supposed to sleep?"<br>"With me", John said. Instantly he started to go deep red. "I… uhhh… meant in the bed. It's big enough for both of us."

Three hours and two cups of tea later they were both changed into their pyjamas and climbed into the bed. Both were really cautious that they let enough space between each other so that they didn't touch.  
>"Night, Sherlock", John said when he turned the lamp on the nightstand off.<br>"Good night, John", the detective mumbled back.  
>The doctor turned his back to his flatmate and stared into the darkness. He was wide awake. There was no way he would be sleeping for the next hour. He could hear Sherlock's breathing, even but not deep, that meant his wasn't sleeping either. <em>Probably off to his mindpalace<em>, John thought.

Lying there and doing nothing, his mind began to wander. He thought about the case they currently had. A young woman, only 25 years old had set a bomb in a school. They didn't know yet why exactly, well _he_ didn't know yet, Sherlock probably did and just didn't bother telling him, but they had followed her to Switzerland. Currently they were in a hut somewhere on one of the smaller mountains where she had gotten undercover as a waitress. His thoughts wandered to the man beside him. Why did people always assume they were together? Couldn't two men live together without shagging each other? He couldn't even imagine… Who was he kidding, well he could. He had thought a few times about it, but since he didn't have a chance with the I-hate-feels-detective he wouldn't try. It wasn't as if he just wanted to turn around and get closer to him, to hold him tight and kiss him, his lips, his face, his damn sharp cheekbones, his neck, his collarbone… _Stop it John!,_ he scolded himself.

When John heard an odd noise from beside him, he turned around to listen better.  
>"Sherlock, are you shivering?", he asked, sensing the light movement of the mattress.<br>"No", the detective answered, but the slight tremble in his voice betrayed him. The doctor shook his head slightly. "Tell me next time before you freeze", he scolded. He moved over to his best friend, slipping beneath his blanket and throwing his own over them.  
>"What are you doing?", Sherlock snapped but John didn't answer. He drew nearer until the tall man's back pressed against his front and slipped an arm around his middle.<br>"John", Sherlock started, but John didn't let him finish his sentence. "Shush", he ordered gently, before he relaxed himself against the sleuth. He breathed in the scent of him, a content smile forming on his face.

After some minutes Sherlock warmed up. John was radiating warmth like a heating. He shifted a bit backwards, pressing himself closer to his blogger. He surprisingly liked the contact of the other men, his arms wrapped around his belly in a slightly possessive way. He couldn't quite understand why, but he definitely liked it. Content he closed his eyes.  
>John smiled at when Sherlock moved closer to him and tightened his grip around his middle. Then he nestled his nose into Sherlock's neck, closed his eyes and slowly drifted away into sleep.<p>

* * *

><p><em><span>AN:<span> Thanks to my lovely girls from the whatsappgroup for helping me with ideas for this oneshot!_  
><em>- I don't own anything.<em>  
><em>Merry Christmas<em>  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	18. December 18

December 18

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><p><strong><span>Of shouting and blushing<span>**

(Warning: Much swearing!)

„WHAT THE HELL WHERE YOU THINKING?!", John shouted at Sherlock as he slammed the door of 221B shut. He was bursting with anger, clenching his fists at his site and painting like he'd run a marathon. He glared at Sherlock, who stood directly in front of him, his arms crossed and a stubborn look on his face.  
>"WHY DID YOU DO THAT, YOU IDIOT! YOU CAN'T JUST PUSH YOURSELF IN FRONT OF A BLOODY GUN! YOU GOT FUCKING SHOT FOR GOD'S SAKE!", he raged, pulling at his short blonde hair while trying to kill Sherlock with his eyes.<br>"Because he would have shot at you. And by the way the bullet only grazed me. I didn't even need stitches", Sherlock answered coolly.

"You didn't even need- Bloody hell, are you even listening to yourself?! YOU NEARLY DIED TODAY, SHERLOCK!" The doctor shook his head, incredulously staring at his best friend.  
>When Sherlock heard this, he couldn't hold himself any longer.<br>"I DID NEARLY DIE TODAY? _I_?! IF I HADN'T PUSHED YOU OUT OF THE WAY YOU WOULD BE DEAD BY NOW! HE AIMED FOR YOUR CHEST! HE WOULD HAVE KILLED YOU!", Sherlock shouted, worry and relief pulling at his nerves. How could John be so dump and not see that he had saved his live?!

Shocked, John backed a bit away. He had never before seen Sherlock shouting. The detective never raised his voice when he was angry, he merrily fixed you with a death glare. Unsure how to react, now that the surprise had swashed away his anger, John frowned at him. "But why should you risk your live? It wouldn't be any better if _you_ died instead of me."  
>Sherlock was still boiling with rage. He couldn't think. "BECAUSE I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU!", he roared, stomping at the floor like a child. Then, suddenly, he froze. His eyes went wide as his brain processed what he had said.<p>

John's jaw dropped in astonishment. He looked as wide eyed as the detective while he just stared at him. Then his face softened, his eyes shining gently as a small smile tugged at his lips.  
>"You're in love with me?", he asked, stepping forward to Sherlock but letting enough space between them so that he didn't touch him.<p>

Sherlock could feel the heat crawling up his cheeks. Why the hell had he said this? Why couldn't he just hold his tongue for once? He watched John's open and friendly face. Well, he couldn't deny it any longer, he supposed.  
>"A bit", he whispered, his voice tiny. He blushed even deeper.<p>

At the slightly red on Sherlock's face John's heart began to flutter. All anger forgotten, really it felt as if that was yesterday, he stepped forward again, now standing directly in front of Sherlock and hesitantly slung his arms around the taller man's neck. He stood on his tiptoes, pulling his detective down a bit and resting his forehead against his. Eyes shut closed, he whispered: "Well, I'm in love with you a bit too, you idiot." And with this, he kissed him.

* * *

><p><em><span>AN:<span> Thanks for reading! The idea for that oneshot i got from a headcanon from tumblr. I don't know who has written it, but credits to them. _  
><em>I don't own BBC Sherlock, but if I would, you'd get season 4 now. Because we need it. Immediatelly. <em>  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	19. December 19

December 19

* * *

><p><strong><span>Wanna have a cuppa?<span>**

John and Sherlock were in the middle of a case. They were just entering 221B, Sherlock was deep in thought about that serial killer who had just murdered a twenty years old woman. He stepped into the living room and laid down on the sofa. John strolled over to the kitchen. He wasn't really thinking about what he was saying, in thought about the case too. "Wanna have a cuppa?" , he asked. Sherlock hummed. "Alright, love." John froze. He hadn't planned to say something like that. _Please, let Sherlock already be in his mindpalace_, he thought blushing. He spun around to see if Sherlock had heard him. Said man was staring at him with wide eyes. John's blush deepened. "I… er… uhm… ", he stammered. He watched Sherlock, who still was staring at him, and to his surprise Sherlock blushed too. Well, of course, this whole situation was awkward for both of them. John gulped, then turned around and hurried into the kitchen. He set the kettle on the stove and began to nestle around with the dishes. _Just don't look at him, just ignore the situation._ He let this mantra run through his mind.

"John?" He flinched and spun around, just to see Sherlock standing only a few inches behind him. He started to blush again. "Uhm, yes, Sherlock?" "I was just… uhm… what did you say before?", Sherlock asked. _Oh god, why can't he just leave it_, John thought. "Err, nothing… I mean… I asked if you want a cuppa." John looked awkwardly around, everywhere but in Sherlock's eyes. "John." His eyes snapped back to Sherlock's face. He must have come nearer, they were only 3 inches apart now. "Yes?", he breathed, his blush deepening by the though how close Sherlock was. "It's alright, love", Sherlock said and bend down to him, until their lips met.

John froze, his eyes wide in surprise. Sherlock bloody Holmes was kissing him. _Him!_ Suddenly he realised that he should react somehow and he started to hungrily kiss him back. His hands travelled up Sherlock's spine and he stroke through his curly black hair, deepening the kiss. Sherlock's arms slung around his waist, pulling him nearer. After what felt like ages, they finally broke apart, panting and gasping for breath. Sherlock gave him a genuine smile. He pressed his forehead against the other man's and closed his eyes. John grinned. He had dreamed a lot of this moment but he had never thought it would actually happen. "So, would you now eventually bring me my tea, please?", Sherlock demanded grinning. John chuckled. "I love you, too, you git."

* * *

><p><em><span>AN:<span> I don't own anything. _  
><em>Merry Christmas, <em>  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	20. December 20

December 20

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><p><span><strong>Meet me at midnight (part 1)<strong>

I sat on my chair in one corner of Stamford's parents' big house, watching the crowd of young people laughing and drinking and dancing. I didn't know why I had come to this party the first way, though the fact that I would have had to go with my parents and Mycroft Christmas shopping if I hadn't gave me some evidence. The people here were dull. Mundane, every one of them. Just some lazy students, doing a Christmas party near the end of the term. I sighed. Hopefully somebody would start a fight soon so that the party would end.

I let my gaze wander over the moving bodies in front of me, not focussing on anyone because they weren't worth my attention. I let my mind wander to the experiment I had started earlier that day, trying to analyse the results.  
>I was storing the register of deductions from the experiment in my mind palace, when somebody stumbled into me and threw my off my chair. With a loud <em>thumb<em> they landed on me while my back hit the blue carpet hard. "Ouch", I hissed, glaring at the young, rather short boy on top of me. "Can't you open your eyes while walking around?!"

To my disapproval the young man began to giggle. His breath smelled like alcohol and his eyes couldn't focus. More than a bit tipsy then. I rolled my eyes.  
>"Sorry gorgeous, didn't see ya", he smirked. Than he let his gaze wander down my chest, checking out what he could see from his position on top of me. He didn't move away.<br>"Though it's a shame I haven't before", he said, winking at me.

I groaned. _What on earth had I done to deserve some drunk twenty-five year-old drool all over me?!  
><em>I tried to shove him off my chest but he resisted. I glared at him.  
>"Get off!"<br>He sniggled, shaking his head so much his blond hair bounced.  
>"No, I'm pretty comfortable here", he said, grinning contently down at me.<br>I gritted my teeth and tried to calm down.  
>"Get off or you'll regret it", I hissed at him. The blonde didn't even back away a bit. Quite the contrary, he got a bit nearer, his grin getting even wider if possible.<br>"I don't think I will", he whispered, leaning down to my ear. A shiver run down my spine. Disgust, that was it, disgust. Really. I took a deep breath, collecting my strength and then I pushed myself hard to one side, rolling both of us over so that I was lying on top now.

For a short moment I didn't move, spread out over him and stared into his dark blue eyes. Immediately the picture of the sky on a clear night popped into my head. It was just seconds, but I stared down into his seemingly eternal blue orbs, all my senses sharp. I smelled the alcohol and the disinfectant on him (so he was a medicine student then, interesting), I heard the music pounding trough the floor, I felt his chest pressing against mine.

As quickly as it had come the moment was over and I stood up, brushing nonexistent dirt from my coat. Without looking back, I strode forward, heading to the door and fleeing into the cool air outside as quickly as possible.

I didn't see the dark blue eyes following me until they couldn't see me anymore.

* * *

><p><em><span>AN:<span> Sorry, sorry, sorry! I feel terrible because I updated so late yesterday and now it's technically december 21 and just update the 20th chapter now! _  
><em>Can you forgive me you amazing readers? Christmas time is just soo busy... But I'll give my best that it won't happen again!<em>  
><em>This is part one of a little uni!lock. I know, John seems a bit OOC, but it'll get better, promise ;) It's just this way 'cause he is drunk. <em>  
><em>- I don't own anything though you had to wait for this chapter nearly as long as Moffat would have make you waiting. - <em>  
><em>Merry Christmas, <em>  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	21. December 21

December 21

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><p><strong><span>Meet me at midnight (part 2)<span>**

I woke with a stinging sensation pressing into the back of my head. My eyes where still closed but the shining read behind my eyelids told me that the sun shone through the window in front of my bed. I rolled on my side, my head thumbing at the movement and groaned while pulling my pillow over my face.

Why on earth had I drunk so much last night? Mike Stamford, one of the lads I played rugby with, had invited me to the Christmas party he had organized at the beginning of the winter break. I hadn't really enjoyed the party at first, not many of my teammates had come to the party and there weren't any girls which were my type, but after the while I had gone to the improvised bar in the kitchen. The first whiskey had been good, the forth had made me a bit tipsy. Now I realized I shouldn't have drunk the vodka afterwards.

I rolled back onto my back and finally pulled the pillow of my head. Staring at the ceiling I tried to remember what had happened after the vodka.  
>There were only some scenes left in my memory.<br>Me dancing with some girl, me bumping into a chair and falling over, me giggling over something I couldn't remember, me lying on top of a tall, dark curled boy and staring into his eyes, who seemed to change their colour. _Wait_. What was _that_?

I closed my eyes to concentrate better and recalled the scene in my mind. I had stumbled over a bottle on the floor and had landed right on top of that man. To my surprise I had the moment very clear in my mind. How I giggled at him and how he had threatened me and turned us around. And even this… moment, where I had just stared up into his undefinable eyes and my senses had shaken off the drunkenness for a second. The loud thumbing of the music, his chest pressed flushed against mine, the air around us had smelled like nicotine and something that reminded me of labours. And then he had stood up and walked away, not turning around once.

As I laid there on my bed and thought about this mysterious young man I realized I had to see him again. I didn't know why I felt that way exactly and I knew that I would make a fool of myself, after all the meeting yesterday had been super-awkward, but I had to find him. Even if it was the last thing I did.

* * *

><p><em><span>AN:<span> Happy 4th advent! Only a few days left until Christmas... And the end of A Johnlock before Christmas. _  
><em>But don't worry, I'll write other stories after this. <em>  
><em>Thanks to all of you who have read this! Today I was sooooo happy when I saw that this story has 35 Followers and 21 Favourites, not to forget your amazing reviews! You motivate me so much 3<em>  
><em>- Sadly, I don't own anything. - <em>  
><em>Merry Christmas, <em>  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	22. December 22

December 22

* * *

><p><strong><span>Meet me at midnight (part 3)<span>**

"So, I see you had good company last night", a feminine voice came from behind me. I turned around to find Irene Adler standing right in front of me, her arms on her hips and a mocking smile playing around her lips. I raised an eyebrow questioningly.  
>"I don't know what you're talking about, Irene", I said. Well, that was a lie. Since this odd… moment yesterday with the blonde boy my thoughts were racing around like mad. I couldn't explain myself why I didn't stop thinking about that man exactly, but strangely enough I knew I wanted to see him again. I shook my head and turned my attention back to the tall woman in front of me, who had a full smirk plastering over her face now.<p>

"So, you don't? Well for that you've just been quite far away."  
>I sighed. "Can't you get on somebody else's nerves?"<br>She laughed lightly. "No I can't. I need you to get to talk to this lad again. I think you fancy him", she said bluntly, staring right into my eyes.  
>I could feel my cheeks go hot but met her gaze stubbornly.<br>"And how exactly do you come to this assumption? It's ridiculous. I've only seen him for a few seconds, I couldn't constitute any attraction just now." A triumphant grin tugged at her mouth. "So you don't deny you could like him in future. I _knew_ it. You know, women decide in the first 7 seconds if they wanna shag a man or not."

I shook my head resignedly. "I hope you've noticed that I am _not_ a woman."  
>She smirked. "Yes, but you're gay. There isn't much difference. Go and talk to your little crush!", she exclaimed, then turned around on her heel and swaggered away.<br>I gaped at her back incredulously. Then I dropped my head, a frown building on my forehead as I headed to my next lecture. Sometimes having Irene Adler as a friend wasn't really the easiest thing.

When I entered the lecture theater I chose a seat at the very end of the large room. This was my biology lecture. I needed to attend it if I wanted to degree in Chemistry, but it was so _tedious_. The professor always got the details wrong. Really, who exactly did employ these professors? I slumped down on my chair and pulled my phone out. When the screen lit up, I saw the tiny icon that told me I had a new message. Quickly I opened it.  
>I didn't know the number. The text was short, and I blinked at it in surprise.<p>

_Hi there, sorry for yesterday. I didn't want to assail you like that, I was a bit too drunk. –JW_

I immediately knew that this was the blonde who had fallen on me yesterday. But where the hell had he gotten my number from? Only a few people had it. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, who asked me sometimes for help with some cases, my brother Mycroft, Molly Hooper, a shy medicine student who had a crush for me and whose father was working in a morgue virtually, so I could get body parts for my experiments, and Irene Adler, the only person I considered as something likely to a friend. I groaned. _Irene_. Quickly I typed back.

_Tell Irene she's in trouble. –SH_

It was 15 minutes before I got my reply.

_How do you know I got the number from Irene? – JW_

I frowned at my phone. Wasn't that obvious? Though he was in a lack of information, so I might had to forgive him his dumbness.

_There are only 4 persons who have my number, well 5 now that you have it too, and the other 3 are not likely to give it too you since one is a DI, one my brother who works in the government and one a girl who has no male friends. So Irene Adler was the only remaining possibility, and a very likely one too, seen as she knows most people of the universities of London. You study medicine, so you're likely to be in Bart's. I wonder though how you could get to know Irene, even if it's sure she knows you.  
><em>_Most likely one of your friends is in a relationship with her. But I don't think she'll give the number to anyone, because she knows I hate it, so you have to be close to her partner. Relative probably. As far as I know she is currently with Harry Watson, some girl from her university. You signed you're SMS with JW, so I assume you're John Watson, Harry's brother. – SH_

The lecture started and the professor talked about meiosis in front of the blackboard, but I just stared at my phone, tapping inpatient with my pen on my desk. He didn't answer for a long time.  
><em>Good job, Sherlock, scaring him off like all the others. Really, that's how you get to know him<em>, I scolded myself, giving up the waiting and beginning to record the results of my latest experiment into my notebook.  
>When the screen of my phone lit up my gaze immediately landed on it.<p>

_That was… amazing. –JW_

_That's not what people usually say. – SH_

_What do they say then? – JW_

A small smile tugged at my lips, when I typed my reply.

_- Piss off. –SH_

* * *

><p><em><span>AN:<span> Aaaaand they get to know each other :D I pretty much like the idea that will follow this conversation tomorrow ;) _  
><em>Thanks for reading and commenting! <em>  
><em>- I don't own anything. - <em>  
><em>Merry Christmas,<em>  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	23. December 23

December 23

* * *

><p><strong><span>Meet me at midnight (part 4)<span>**

I smiled to my phone when I read Sherlock's answer. Indeed I had been lucky that Irene knew him, though it was relatively likely since she knew almost everyone.  
>I spent the day writing with Sherlock, my phone buzzing always immediately after I sent my answer to his texts. He was witty. Okay, maybe he was an arrogant smartass too, but I was amazed by what he called his <em>deductions<em> and found him really entertaining.

In no time it was evening and I laid on my bed, phone in hands, still texting with the genius. I smiled as I waited for his answer. My first feeling had been right, I needed to see him again. He wasn't just gorgeous, he was witty and clever and funny.

_I honestly don't know why I bother texting you. It isn't as if I was very talkative with mundane people normally. – SH_

A grin tugged at my lips. Maybe other people would have been offended by this, but I had realized after a just a few messages from him that he didn't mean it personally.

_So I'm an exception then? – JW_

_I think you are, John. Isn't there a saying that every rule needs its exception? So, you would have verified this. – SH_

I bit on my lower lip. Should I risk it? I really enjoyed writing with Sherlock and it would be really bad to lose this contact, even after just one day. Otherwise I wanted to meet him again. Badly. I took a deep breath and sent my next message.

_Sherlock, do you know winter wonderland in Hyde Park is, right? – JW_

The reply came immediately.

_Meet me at midnight. – JW_

To my great relieve he didn't ask further questions. He merrily wrote me a quick okay and I got up again, checking my watch. It was eleven pm, and since I my flat was really close to Hyde Park I had enough time to think everything through again. _Unfortunately_.

"You're such an idiot, Watson. What are you thinking? That he likes you? After you fucking stumbled over him and didn't let him stand up again?!", I scolded myself, looking miserably to the phone. But there was no backing away _now_, I supposed.

I braced myself and I stood up, going to my wardrobe and pulling a warm jumper out. It would get cold, I assumed, looking out of the window to the snow-covered streets. I left my bedroom, pulling my warm jacket and my shoes on while trying to calm down. I shook my head. Calm down, John, I thought, it isn't as if this was your first date. It wasn't even really a date, if you considered a date something where _both_ parties knew about that fact.

I locked the door to my flat and quickly walked to the tube station only a few metres away. Hurrying down the stairs I rummaged around in my pockets for my oyster card, smiling relived when I found it. Quickly I got through down into the Piccadilly line and waited impatient for the station Hyde Park.

* * *

><p><em><span>AN:<span> Last post before Christmas! Tomorrow you get the end of this story and with this the end of a Johnlock before Christmas... _  
><em>Thanks for reading! 3 You all motivate me so much and I'm so thankful for your support. <em>  
><em>- I don't own anything, but if Moffat keeps being Satan he might soon don't own anything too... *evil smirk* - <em>  
><em>Merry Christmas, <em>  
><em>~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes<em>


	24. December 24

December 24

* * *

><p><span><strong>Meet me at midnight (part 5)<strong>

I made my way to the big entrance sign of the winter wonderland. I didn't quite understand why John wanted to meet there, after all it was closed since 10 pm. But as I had received his question my fingers had send him_ Yes. –SH_ quicker than my brain had been able to process it. I didn't know why I was feeling so anxious to finally meet him again, after all I had only met him the day before yesterday and that hadn't really been a nice experience, but… The picture of his dark blue eyes which seemed to go internally popped into my mind. I glanced upwards at the sky which was very clear to night. I was able to see some stars, astonishing much for a big city like London. And when I looked up, it wasn't the sky anymore but John's eyes.

Quickly I shook my head and stared down at the ground. What happened to me? Why did I go all sloppy and irrational?! I shoved this unpleasant thoughts back in one corner of my mind palace and strode down to the entrance.

John was already standing there, rocking back and forth on his feet - anxious. His hair was a bit dishevelled, he had ran his fingers through it – nervous. He glanced down all the paths where I could come from – impatient. I smiled. He wouldn't look between the paths, where the trees stood and where I came from at the moment. I couldn't observe why exactly he was so nervous, but I could feel the same feeling crawling up my neck. What was it with me today?!

I approached him from behind, being as quiet as possible until I stood directly behind him. "Good evening, John", I said, smirking as he whirled around. Though I hadn't expected him to be have this good reactions. Within seconds I laid with my back in the snow, John laying on my top and pinning me down. We stared at each other for a second, before I began to chuckle.  
>"I can register a pattern in your habits", I stated, grinning up at him. John got deep red, clumsily crawling down from me.<br>"I'm… uhm… I'm sorry, really…. Man, this is awkward. You startled me, sorry, really…", he trailed of, avoiding to look into my eyes.  
>I shook my head slightly. "No harm done", I assured him, brushing the snow from my coat.<p>

He glanced up at me (uh, he was shorter than he had seemed from the distance), smiling lightly.  
>"You've got some…", he waved his hand in the direction of my head before standing on his tiptoes and brushing the snow out of my dark curls. I stiffened under the touch, staring him right into the eyes. He didn't look back, but quickly pulled his hand back and turned so he stood beside me. He cleared his throat.<p>

"So… uhm, shall we go?", he asked, shooting me an insecure glance.  
>I smiled and nodded. He led me to the entrance, giving me a mischievous grin. I frowned at him when I understood what he was up to.<br>"You want to break in?", I asked.

He chuckled. "That's not how I would call it. Let's say, I want to show you something", he said, winking at me and pulling a key out of his pocket. He opened the large grille that locked the park and held it open for me to pass.  
>He smirked at me. "Ladies first."<br>To my own surprise I began to laugh. "What a gentleman", I deadpanned. His face lightened up and his eyes began to sparkle, now resembling the night sky even more.

_Sherlock Holmes, why on earth are you flirting with this man?_, I asked myself, frowning inwardly. I let my gaze wander over him, his friendly and open face which was framed by short, dirty blonde curls, his short but muscular body, and the outlines recognisable even under his winter jacket. He was well build thanks to his rugby training. He was handsome. I had never before found someone handsome, since beauty was a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences and role models. I had never led myself down on such mundane impressions, because it wasn't important if somebody I met was good looking or not. But when I looked at John, I found myself fooled by my own believes. He was rather dashing, standing there, snow in his hair and grinning mischievously up at me. Suddenly I had to suppress the want to pull him nearer.

I shook myself a bit, trying to shake off this absurd feeling. John gave me a dashing grin, walking next to me and leading me in the direction of a big wheel. When I saw what he was intending I wrung my hands nervously.  
>"You want to go up there? It doesn't work anyway", I tried, looking down on my shoes anxiously. He grinned.<br>"Well, I can change that", he said, waving with the key he had used earlier. Happily he walked into the little hut beside it. A few seconds later the lights on the big wheel went on, glittering and Last Christmas sounded quietly through the speakers. John came back out and winked at me.  
>"Can I invite you?", he asked, waving upwards. He was beaming at me so contently I couldn't resist.<br>_Oh what have you got yourself into_, I thought following him into one of the cabins.

* * *

><p>Sherlock followed me into the cabin of the big wheel, just a few steps behind me. I was pleased with myself, everything worked out as I had planned it. Though I was nervous if I had a chance with him, I was soothed a bit by the fact that he had flirted back at the entrance.<br>I took my seat right next to him and closed the door behind us. Slowly the big wheel began to turn and we were pulled upwards.  
>I felt Sherlock stare at me from one side and gave him a questioning glance.<br>"How did you get the key of your uncle that fast?", he asked me. I looked at him astonished.  
>"Where do you know from that I have the key from my uncle?"<br>He frowned a bit.

"Obvious, isn't it? Since your parents are both dead and only a relative would trust you with something like a key to a fun park. It has to be an adult logically and since I've read that the owner of the winter wonderland is in is mid-fifties it can't be your grandparents. So, uncle or aunt. There is a picture on the front of the park from a man who has some similarities to you so it has to be your uncle.  
>Now that I think about it, it's unlikely that you went to him before we met so you have a permanent key. Maybe because he is generous, but I think it's more because you got a holiday job here. Since this big wheel was your best idea and you immediately knew how it worked, I think you work as the operator of it. Am I right?"<p>

I stared at him open-mouthed. "That was…brilliant!", I exclaimed, clapping my hands together in excitement. Through my movement the cabin began to rock back and forth slightly. Sherlock stiffened and grabbed my arm, pressing his fingers into my muscles. He stared down at the ground with wide eyes, not realizing what he was doing.  
>"Uhm, Sherlock? Are you… afraid of heights?", I asked hesitantly.<p>

He shook his head. "No", he said stubbornly. A grin spread over my face. Well, if he said he wasn't… I wiggled a bit around so that the whole cabin began to swing.  
>"John, stop!", he squeaked not very manly and clutched himself fully against my arm. I chuckled.<p>

"I thought you weren't afraid?", I teased. He shot me a glare but didn't let go of my arm.  
>Suddenly his breathing began to accelerate. His eyes were wide and stared at the ground which seemed to swing back and forth through our movement.<br>"Gosh, Sherlock, are you hyperventilating? I didn't knew it was this bad! I'm sorry, really", I fussed, worried over the state he was in.  
>"Sherlock, look at me", I said calmly. He didn't move. Gently I reached out and cupped his face upwards, so that he was looking at me.<br>"Concentrate on me. On my face, on my voice. Calm down. Breath in, breath out", I muttered, still holding his jaw in my hand. I let my thumb wander over his high cheekbones to calm him. Only to calm him, really.

He nodded, fixing my eyes with his undefinable orbs.  
>"Distract me", he demanded, his voice shaking lightly. I frowned at him. How should I distract him?<br>"Tell me something", he added. I nodded firmly.  
>"I… uhm… I'm sorry for that…. Accident at the party. It was just really boring there and well I got drunk, and maybe I should have stopped before I was that drunk. And then I stumbled over you and… I'm really sorry. I know it was super awkward and what I said to you…", I trailed off. <em>What I said to you was all true, because you're bloody gorgeous<em>, I wanted to say. But my throat closed before I could say it.

"And then, well… I had to think about that moment when we… uhm turned around the whole evening and before I had really thought about it I asked Irene for your number. I don't know why exactly, but I am really glad you wanted to meet me today. After all it's Christmas eve", I smiled slightly at him.

Tentatively he smiled back, letting go of my arm a bit but still touching my shoulder. Suddenly I was very aware of the hand I still had on his jaw and blushed. I started to pull it away but he reached up and held it there, stroking over my fingers with his. I saw confusion in his eyes and fear. He didn't seem to know what he was doing.  
><em>Fuck it,<em> I thought, _I don't know either._

And then I kissed him. I leaned forward, watched his eyes flutter shut and touched his lips with mine. His mouth was warm and soft and insecure and perfect. I skidded nearer to him, pulling him into my arms, never letting the kiss fade. I reached up and ran my hands through his dark curls. He slung his arms around me, pulling me nearer until our chests were touching.

The kiss seemed endless. Warm and soothing and brilliant and the best kiss I had ever had. When we finally pulled away to get some air, our foreheads were still touching.  
>"Merry Christmas, Sherlock", I whispered.<br>A small smile tugged at his lips. "Merry Christmas, John."

* * *

><p>AN: Merry Christmas folks! This got rather long, though I wanted it to get so long. After all, it's Christmas.<br>I just wanted to say I really loved writing this whole calendar. A few of you were sad that it ended today so I can assure you, I'll post other stories soon.  
>The next story I will continue will be "If only you knew". It's Potterlock and the first chapter is already up.<p>

Thank you so much for your support. Your lovely comments and reviews made my smile everyday and I really enjoyed writing.  
>Special thanks to Jana, the best friend somebody could have. Thank you for your ideas and for being my greatest fan 3<br>Thanks also to my Fanily from the WhatsAppgroup. I love you all so much.

Thank you all for your support. Tell me how you found the end of this story! I will miss writing here! 3  
>And I'd love to hear some suggestions for other stories, so if you have any ideas, send me a message or a review ;)<p>

- I still don't own anything. Though I wish even Moffat a merry Christmas today. -  
>Merry Christmas,<br>~ your more-than-happy TheNameIsAllieHolmes


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